Missing Moments
by SnarkyMuch2
Summary: Repeated trauma does damage. Sam has taken one too many hits to the head and now he is dealing with the consequences. Written for Pennies 4 Eyes prompt on the OhSam comment meme.


**Title:** Missing Moments

**Author:** Snarkymuch

**Rating:** PG

**Genre:** Hurt/Comfort

**Pairing(s)/Character(s):** Sam, Dean

**Warnings:** None

**Spoilers:** Season 8

**Summary:** Written for Pennies_4_Eyes on the Oh Sam Comment Meme. **Prompt:** So I'd like a fic, Season 8, where Sam has developed epilepsy from the repeated head trauma. Many epileptics don't realize at first what is going on, because to them they just experience lost time, waking up on the ground, feeling like shite, etc. And I'd like Sam not to know what is happening to him, only that something is wrong. It started a while back, while Dean was in Purgatory, and Sam knows something is wrong, just not what. It's not happened while Dean was there, to date, and Sam isn't opening up about there being a problem because Dean is being...well...Dean. And Sam fears it's something supernatural. Then Dean is at ground zero for a seizure. Maybe in the middle of chasing or even fighting a winter monster/demon/spirit thing.

**Total Word Count**: 1,800

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing and no copyright infringement intended.

**Missing Moments**

It started before Dean came back, or maybe it was even before Dean got sucked into purgatory. Sam wasn't sure really anymore. He just knew that something wasn't right and hadn't been for a while.

Little pieces of time seemed to dissolve around him, leaving tiny gaps in his day, ones that he would miss had he not been such a keen hunter.

"Sam, where are you?" Amelia called through the house. She was worried about him. It had been hours since Sam was supposed to be back at her place and he hadn't even called.

Sam groaned. The floor felt cold under his skin. It felt good. His body ached and his mind wanted to let him drift back off but there was a niggling of concern in the back of his mind. Why was he on the floor?

"Sam!" The voice of someone female, of Amelia, echoed in the background.

Knowing something was very wrong and worried for Amelia's safety, Sam forced back the heavy feeling in his body and pushed himself up to sit. Blinking, he looked around. He was on the floor of the bathroom. After a quick cursory exam, he found no blood and no weapons in the room. The last thing he remembered was going in to take a shower.

There was a knock at the door and Sam head snapped a bit too fast in the direction, sending a jolt of pain through him.

"Sam, you in there?" Amelia said.

Sam raked a hand over his face and then pushed himself to his feet. He wavered for a moment but then steadied himself on the counter.

"Yeah," he croaked, surprised by the harshness of his voice. He cleared it and spoke up. "I'm fine. Be right out."

He tried to blow off the bathroom incident, and for a while it was working, but then it happened again, and Sam knew something was happening to him and it scared him to think of what.

It was a good day. Amelia was out of work early and Sam had planned a picnic for her. He was all ready to head out when suddenly he found himself on the kitchen floor, Riot whimpering and licking his face.

Just like before, he his whole body ached and his head felt heavy. Just raising his arm to brush Riot off made him gasp. It was like he had gone ten rounds with a prize fighter. Riot lay down beside him, pressing his nose against his neck.

They stayed like that for a while as Sam let his body rest. Every now and then Riot would nudge him gently and whimper and Sam would shush him, telling him that he was fine even though he knew he was far from it. Something was very wrong. His mind flashed back to when his powers used to leave him with the same drained feeling. He wondered if this was somehow similar. It worried him to think of what could be happening to him.

It was exactly two weeks later that a phone call would make him forget about it all, that a phone call would make him lose all touch with reality. Amelia's husband was alive.

In the end, Sam packed his things and moved out with few words. As for his episodes, he hadn't had one in weeks and with everything going on it didn't seem that important anymore. Maybe part of him wished whatever it was would just swallow him whole and he wouldn't have to face what was left of his life.

When things didn't seem to be possible to get much worse, Sam got a call from the person he least expected. Dean. He struggled through the call and hung up the phone with a mixed sense of relief and dread. Dean was back. His brother was alive and he was going to have to face him again, knowing he was going to have to lie and hide whatever supernatural thing was happening to him now.

Life with dean was beginning to settle into some kind of normalcy again. They weren't as close as before though. Dean kept his distance, and Sam was all right with that.

December rolled around and things weren't any better.

"Sam, you all right?" Dean asked as he tossed the duffel onto the bed. His tone was almost caring and it shocked Sam.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam said. "Just tired."

Dean studied him for a moment, biting at the inside of his cheek. Finally he nodded and went back to unpacking their things.

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His head was pounding. He walked over to the table and sat down. He kicked off his boots and grabbed the paper, rubbing his forehead as he did.

He could feel Dean's eyes on him and it was unnerving.

He thought back to the hunt and how close he had come to losing his life. It was snowing and the ground was slick. He hadn't been able to get his footing and when the ghost came at him he wasn't able to stay righted. He fell back, knocking his head against the headstone as the spirit clawed a hand into his chest.

Sam hadn't been afraid as the ghost tightened its icy fingers around his heart. He had welcomed the darkness. It was a break from the harsh reality of a world where nothing ever worked out for him.

And then Dean arrived, just in the nick of time. He shot the spirit full of rock salt and smirking triumphantly as he did.

When he saw the shape Sam was in though, his demeanor changed. Concern flashed over his features and he rushed to Sam's side, a hand brushing over the blood that Sam could feel trickling down the back of his neck.

"Shit, seems your head isn't as hard as I thought," Dean said, ducking his head to look into Sam's eyes, checking his pupils.

Sam brushed him off, trying to see through the spots in his vision. He pushed himself to his feet, steadying himself on the headstone. The ground felt like it was shifting under his feet and he groaned.

"Sam?"

Sam swallowed and closed his eyes.

"Sam, talk to me, bro," Dean said, panic lacing his tone.

"I'm all right," Sam said. "Just dizzy."

Dean seemed to relax a little. "Okay, let's get you back to the motel."

Footsteps came up beside him and he looked over his shoulder. Dean was now standing beside the table staring at him. He looked concerned.

"That gash on your head needs stitches."

"I think it's okay," Sam said. "It's not bleeding anymore."

Dean shook his head. "Fine, it's your head. What do I know?" Dean walked over to the bed and flopped down.

Sam gathered his supplies and went into the bathroom. He was about strip out of his clothes when he felt that familiar sensation that preceded an attack. His vision got blurry and he could almost hear his pulse rushing in his ears.

He grabbed the counter for support but he was too late to stop his fall. He hit the floor with a thud and the world went black.

Dean was flicked through the channels, trying to find something to watch, but there was little on. He was just settling in with an episode of The Housewives of New York when he heard the crash.

He jumped to his feet and ran toward the bathrooms.

"Sam," Dean said. "You all right?"

There was no response. He pressed his ear to the door while at the same time his hand went to the doorknob. He jiggled it; it was locked.

"Sammy?" Dean put his hand against the door. "Answer me, dammit."

Dean could hear a sound close to a groan. Unsure what could be happening with his brother on the other side of the door, Dean stepped back and threw his shoulder into the door.

It gave way with a crack, splintering the frame around the lock.

What Dean saw on the floor was something he was unlikely to ever forget. Sam was laying prone on the floor, neck corded with strain, arms and legs twitching, hands fisted and bent around his chest in an unnatural way.

Dean immediately fell to his knees at his side, his hands going to Sam's face and hair, unsure of what to do.

There was a choking sound and Dean's eyes widened even further. Sam was vomiting. He was choking. Quickly, Dean moved to action. He slid his hands under his brother's and rolled him so was on his side. His body was still twitching and shaking. It was terrifying Dean.

And then it just stopped. Sam's body began to relax and he seemed to pull his knees up into his chest and moan. Dean grabbed his phone from his pocket and dialed 911.

Sam awoke to the sound of Dean's voice and the feeling of fingers pressed to the pulse point of his neck.

"Hang on, Sam," Dean said. "The ambulance is on the way."

Sam blinked wearily and tried to push himself up but Dean pressed his hands to his shoulders and held him down.

"Easy, you've just had a seizure."

Sam's brow furrowed. "A what?"

"Just relax. The ambulance will be here any minute."

Sam wanted to protest, tell him that he didn't need an ambulance, but after seeing the look on Dean's face he knew he had to let him do this. Dean looked terrified.

The hospital was busy but the doctors and nurses were pleasant enough. Sam answered their questions and went along with them without argument when they took him for scans. After hours of waiting and a visit by a specialist Sam got a diagnosis. It wasn't something supernatural. It was something very human. He had epilepsy. The doctor explained that it was likely a result repeated head trauma.

"So it's permanent?" Sam asked.

Dean stood in the corner of the room, arms crossed over his chest, a serious expression on his face. He looked as anxious for the answer to the question as Sam was.

"I'm afraid this is something you're going to have to live with," the doctor explained. "But it is something that can be managed with the right medications."

"So what happens now?" Sam asked.

"Well, I am going to start you on a treatment plan and set you up with a referral to a neurologist."

Dean stepped forward, facing the doctor with an expression that could kill. The doctor instinctively took a step back.

"He's going to be all right," Dean said. It wasn't really a question.

"Yes, like I said, it's manageable."

Dean relaxed a little and looked over at Sam. "You know this doesn't mean you get out of laundry duty right?"

Sam smirked. "You're such a jerk."


End file.
